The chiff of Bogus security was going to inspect a human organs factory in Suffolk. Years back there were a pig farms there and his grangrandad was a pig farmer once...Not any more. Time has erased the past so much there were no pigs anymore. The road was trecherous and plagued by dangers. Run away genetically modified criaches bred and mutated. The pigs were not just regular pigs, they had the ability to impart onto those who ate them the gift of clairvoyance. This was discovered only after several years of eating the genetically modified swine. The village of suffolk started to experience a weird shift in their mental abilities. A mother was looking for her son John and she scoured the village with her preoccupied air. other villagers were aware of her search and they began to help her. "He"s in the barn behind Malloy"s farm." one said. "He"s not hurt really, just confused and lost." another said. Eventually everyone in the village had this ability and soon enough they relized it was the pigs who were creating this ability. Now the village wanted to sit on this discovery. they enjoyed the understanding between them. One of the villagers, who was a big hippie in the 60's said that it reminded him of an acid trip he had at a pink floyd show where everyone around him seemed connected and concerned about each other. it was beautiful and the government would want to take it away from them if they found out. The village healer, Jeremy, was the main organizer of the underground pig movement. He would go door to door and conduct meetings in peoples kitchens where he discussed the blessed events of pig clairvoyance and the urgent need for secrecy. he wanted to secretly patent the genetic code of these pigs and he wanted to enlist them in a new animal hagiography he was developing. Animals with power and kindness, Lassie was a big star in his animal cathedral. He was up against the research center on the edge of town. In this research center, there was a woman named Minta and she was sure something was going on in suffolk and made various trips to the village to observe people and find out what was underfoot. Jeremy warned people about her existence and told them not to behave in the new way, the pig way, but to try to act like they did before the pigs came. He also organized ritual feastings where the village would gorge on pork until they had visions. The concentration of pig lipids at these feasts was so high that people were able to see the future and converse with the dead. he was especially fond of using these feasts to congratulate new couples on their eventual offspring. This is where air and space come in. These things work their way through tubes, which can either be underground, from the nostril to the lung and through to the anus, or they can be cosmic, where light reflected from mirror shards on a hatbrim work their way through the atmosphere, and make the three poles of a teepee. The poles are hollow, so while they are a perfect support for cowhide or other planes of matter, things can also work their way through them. Rust builds up on the inside, however, which is a hindrance to free movement. So those with names that match those on their passport generally make it through, but the nameless have only hats, and light, which was never quite specified in the constitution. Additions to the document were lost in the fire of '63, which took the barn down with it. But some species are born with a natural hologram, which can sometimes be sufficient to convince the authorities. Obviously Stonehenge is important here. That formation was and is the basis of the pneumatic teepee system. There is a certain molecular construction that occurs once in a great while and which makes possible the sort of energy and flow needed for teleportation, clairvoyance and more abstract processes. Stonehenge is one of the only physical monuments to this energy. The truth about stonehenge is that when people touch it, even the lowliest tourists, the rock enables them to have instant epiphanies. this accounts for the glazed over expressions of tourists in the photos taken of them at stonehenge. they are staring emptily, but inside they have just discovered that the color red is connected to the vibration that made their desires possible, or that Ansel Adams is an asshole in so many ways, it's actually infinite and impossible to count. Johnny No Credit had a numb head after yesterday's night orgy and he looked at the vessels with fetuses with disapproval and major disgast, as if he was one of them. I need to run but there nowhere to run,bollocks to it. It always come back to form, and this is a bore, because it's always shapes without letters, traveling through holes, trotting over crevices, making its way through. Somehow though, once you establish a doer of the holes, it starts to drip, it starts to dribble, and there are all these banal syllables that try to obliquely refer to hard and soft, entries and exits, up and down, back and forth. But here is where we introduce the absolute, the up-against, and that's where it reaaaly starts to feel good, the question is is whether it's from the vantage point of top or bottom, pokes or poking, and in the end that's just a question of territory, which has no map, no dialect, only space and the tiny torches that show you the way. the research lab is gray and has a laminated quality to it. the people that work there have a laminated quality to their faces. their faces are set and disciplined. each lab has a leader. each leader has a group leader and each group leader answers to minta. minta looks like an ostrich. she is tall and hunched with thick powerful haunches. she oversees the research and organizes the lab results to test the status of genetic modification of animals and their effect on the communities that eat them. so far she has 6 thick manilla folders on Suffolk. She herself would never eat gen-modified meat. she is 100% organic and enjoys administering organic chicken feces facials to herself every other week. she sees a clear distinction between the haves and the have nots and she identifies having with the flavor of california-organic shtiake mushroom pizza, enjoyed with a glass of spanish rioja. Suffolk people eat shepherd's pie and fart in public. these worlds are not compatible, but something is up there and she is going after jermey to find out. in jeremy's dreams he floats above the people of suffolk and periodically lowers down ropes to them. these ropes are gold and fleshy. the people that grab onto them are raised and once they reach jeremy they burst into pure light and jeremy feels their consciousness enter into him and make him stronger and yet gentler at the same time. why despite the advanced mindset of this village does jeremy see himself as a messiah figure. this belief in one, a natural inclination toward monotheism, cannot be accounted for by jeremy. he only recognizes his benevolence and power over the villagers and because of his special position, he finds it difficult to confront the deeper philosophical and ideolgoical implications. what he can't escape, is the other image that greets him so often in the rope dream. this image is of a fox in a compost pile. the fox is crafty and he collects the best bits from the compost pile under an oak tree. when jeremy looks back at the fox he sees that the fox has collected human skulls and is delicately licking the remaining blood and flesh from them. The ranger finally found the spot. There had been rumblings around, Sheila had said so, late last night even, she was fumbling with the lampswitch and knew that somewhere on the way from the plug to the fire, there was some was some sort of pattern, something that would be revealed, like a trapdoor to the sky, but she didn't say anything, because she had gotten in the habit of testing these things, even if the movies had convinced her that this was a dangerous thing to do. And what's the spot? It was the vortex, a moment like discovering an eyebrow that is actually a G-spot, a moaning, sweating, hairy moment, that for some is inside a cave, but is for the wider public a matter of overpasses and lips that are half ajar, a slight opening, a clue. A stamped, franked and crinkled message to whomever stopped listening a long, long time ago.